I am the scale's little bitch. My moods, commitment, dedication, pretty much everything is often controlled by success or failure on the scale. When the scale went up to 236 again earlier this week, I had a temper tantrum. Very close to throwing myself on the floor nekkid, kicking, screaming, wailing.

Here is the Morning Scale Ritual. – *Snoozing…with any luckWakePeeDisrobeStep On ScaleSee the ReadingBlaspheme the Scale’s ParentageStep Off ScaleStep Back On Scale to Make Sure It’s Not LyingStep Off ScaleDecide What Mood I’m In After Adding The Scale FactorGet Washed Up and Dressed*Pour Coffee. Sit at the Computer in PJs...Start Work after 30MinutesEat Breakfast at Some Point

Go Poopy if I’m Lucky

Get Back UndressedStep On ScaleSee The ReadingBlaspheme the Scale’s ParentageStep Off ScaleStep Back On Scale to Make Sure It’s Not LyingStep Off ScalePut PJs Back On and Go To Work

(*Who am I kidding here? “They” say the next step after the first step where you cop a confession is to quit lying. I don’t “dress.” I re-dress for the office in the same pjs I wore to bed the night before!

My PJs sometime have a spot or two from dinner remaining on the shirt front. I can’t figure out what’s up with that or how I STILL get spots of food on my non-existent bosom. I don’t have a drip-stopper anymore, no shelf or rack to conveniently catch things. And yet, I get spots on my shirt. Meh, I'm quite certain the mystery will be revealed to me in the afterlife, along with the locations of all the socks gone missing from the dryer.)